


Of Course

by DollopheadedMerlin, Eisbaerfussel



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Whump, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Hurt, Hurt Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Hurt Merlin, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, Protective Merlin, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Whump, Written for Merlin Reverse Big Bang Round 2, hurt Arthur, merlin reverse big bang, merlin whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 03:49:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18957280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollopheadedMerlin/pseuds/DollopheadedMerlin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisbaerfussel/pseuds/Eisbaerfussel
Summary: Arthur is down, struggling to get up. This is how Merlin finds him. After everything he went through to warn him about the danger, it seems to be too late. - But he is going to do everything in his power make sure that his king makes it home alive.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Art is by Eisbaerfussel  
> Fic is by DollopheadedMerlin  
> Beta'd by whimsical-chocolate on tumblr
> 
> Written for Merlin Reverse Big Bang Round 2

Merlin really was an interesting fellow. A _strange_ fellow. The more Arthur thought about it, the less sense he made. He marched right into the city out of nowhere and began picking fights with princes, knights, and kings, as if they couldn’t have waved their hand and had his head chopped clean off. He really had no self-preservation. Even after he’d lived and learned in the palace for years, he still threw himself into danger; speaking out against the unjust and, when words failed, marching blindly into battle, barebacked and unarmed.

Something drove Merlin, something that Arthur was never able to see. For a long while, he thought it was foolishness, that Merlin just did whatever happened to be the first thing that popped into his head. It made sense. He _was_ an idiot. Perhaps his fight or flight response was a bit off kilter, his impetuousness more powerful than his reasoning.

But then there were the moments in between: the nights before Merlin would disappear for a day or two, the words spoken before a looming battle, the quiet evenings when Arthur was riddled with doubt and Merlin of all people would inexplicably come up with the right words to say. In these moments, the king often found himself wondering _how does he know so much?_

Arthur tried to remember the last time Merlin had done that, had reached into his reservoir of wisdom and spoken with such a deep understanding of the world that one might think he’d lived years beyond his true age. It was recent, but it was warped, difficult to recall.

There had been a beast in the woods. That much he could remember. Agravaine had reported the sightings to him, along with rumors that it dwelled in a cave at the base of a small mountain in Andor. Merlin had been moody since he’d heard the news, obviously not looking forward to another trek through the woods in the cold weather. But it was more than just his usual sulking. He seemed tired, unwell, and had come to him in the night to assure that he’d be at Arthur’s heels, no matter where he went.

He just couldn’t quite remember Merlin’s wording. It had been so profound and alluded to a deeper meaning that Arthur was almost afraid to understand. He wanted so desperately to remember what Merlin had said, to turn it over in his mind as he laid there in the cave, shivering against the early winter chill. He dragged open his eyes to find and ask the man himself but was faced only with the dark walls of the cave. For a moment, he was annoyed with Merlin for letting the fire die down and pondered how his knights hadn’t stirred from their sleep due to the cold. Soon, however, dread settled into his bones. He became aware of his own breathing, how wet and ragged it was. It was not just cold in this cave. It was bitter and numbing, Arthur’s whole body littered with goosebumps and the feeling of pins and needles; all except for a worryingly warm spot blossoming from the side of his head.

He turned onto his side with great difficulty, the sharp sting of his chainmail and armor seeping through his gambeson and forcing him to wheeze and wince. His heart pounded in his ears, drumming loudly and burning the backs of his eyes. Soon that noise was smothered by another rhythm; feet slamming against the hard cave floor.

Ah, the man in question.

Merlin slowed to a stumble, swaying on his feet as he caught his breath. He looked down at Arthur with weary, broken eyes, and dropped to his knees before him.

Arthur stared back up at him, eyes having trouble focusing on his friend's face.

“C'mon,” Merlin mumbled in a weak and crackling voice. His eyes darted around in the dark as he hunched over his king. “We need to go.” He snaked his arms under Arthur's cape and struggled to lift him.

“Someone punched you,” Arthur said, when the dim light hit Merlin's face just right. A bruise was indeed settled beneath a slightly swollen eye.

Merlin frowned, possibly because Arthur's words had slurred out of him like dribble.

“Can you stand?”

Arthur nodded, despite not truly knowing the answer. He let Merlin prop him up against the cave wall and pin him there by the shoulders. Merlin was still panting, chest heaving and limbs shaking, but held his king up nonetheless.

Light flickered in through the tunnel that Merlin had run through and Arthur shut his eyes against the brightness. Merlin cursed at the sight of it and pulled away from the wall.

“We need to leave. Now.” He maneuvered Arthur's arm over his shoulder and thrust them into an unsteady walk, bumping against the wall every few steps.

Suddenly aware of a sharp pain in his stomach, Arthur felt ravenous, but also as though he may vomit all over their shoes. He swallowed a thick glob of phlegm that was trapped in the back of his throat and gripped onto Merlin's shoulder more firmly.

“You're alright,” Merlin assured him, despite struggling under the king's weight. “Just hold on a little longer.”

As they ventured further down the winding caverns, the atmosphere gradually became lighter, warmer, but not because they had reached the light of day. Arthur peered curiously around at the torches that lined the cave walls, fixed in scones, embedded into the stone. Soon, he saw barrels and crates, some open and displaying supplies that could keep one living contentedly for months.

“The beast,” Arthur slurred, confused and bewildered.

Merlin frowned at him again and paused to adjust his grip on Arthur, hoisting his body up and securing a hold around his waist. Arthur tried to hold himself up with his own strength, but his limits were narrower than he realized.

“We need to cut through their camp. But there's another exit that we're pretty sure they're unaware of. The knights should be waiting for us there,” Merlin whispered with whatever breath he could spare.

“Who—”

 _“Shh!”_ Merlin leaned into Arthur suddenly, sending them stumbling to the side and into a small alcove. Merlin clamped his hand over Arthur's mouth and held his breath.

A silhouette merged out from the darkness, a great long shadow of an armored body walking forth. The footsteps grew nearer and louder, but whoever they belonged to remained out of sight.

Merlin looked to the right, where there was a dark tunnel, void of the lively setup around them. He moved his hand from Arthur's mouth and got a firm hold around his middle, readying himself to drag his master away with haste.

Merlin did that often, Arthur realized dazedly. He didn't waste time going back for reinforcements. Surely Merlin could much more easily slip away undetected without having to lug a wounded man around with him. Not only was Merlin never tempted to just save his own skin, but he could never leave a downed man behind, despite there being a hoard of burly knights ready and waiting to do these things for him.

He could leave Arthur here, in this dark crevice, and return with a charge of armed men, much more capable of raiding this camp and destroying that beast.

He still hadn't laid eyes on the monstrous thing, but he at least knew that Merlin's small frame and the lack of a sword at his belt would be no match for it.

“I need you to try and stand,” Merlin whispered into Arthur's ear, words formed from breath more than voice. “He's not looking this way. We need to get to cover before we're noticed.”

Arthur didn't trust his voice to be as quiet as Merlin's, so he nodded and concentrated on placing his feet steadily on the ground. When he seemed ready, Merlin all but dragged Arthur across the cavern, holding his breath in fear that they would be heard. Arthur just stared at his feet, watching them take unsteady steps forward.

They sunk into the shadows once more and Arthur felt he could give his mind a rest, glancing over his shoulder to steal a glance at whoever it was that Merlin had seen. The man was turning away, only a small portion of his face visible from behind a length of black hair, but Arthur knew in an instant who it was that they were running from.

“Agravaine,” he uttered, turning back to the path ahead as they ventured out of view.

 _“Shh!”_ Merlin hushed, urging Arthur forward.

The cave grew quiet and cold again, Arthur closing his eyes against a headache forming behind his eyes.

“Hey,” Merlin hissed, holding him close.

Arthur's eyes flickered open and he became aware that his knees had given out, realizing that he was sinking slowly down Merlin's side.

“Hey,” Merlin said again, softly. “You need to get up. We need to keep going.”

“‘Kay,” Arthur slurred, straightening his legs as best as he could.

They continued along the uneven wall, strength waning but hope bubbling as the darkness slowly seeped away. But Arthur's mind kept swimming and he fell again and again, and Merlin's own strength was eventually so depleted that he could no longer hoist the king back onto his feet.

“Arthur,” he urged, tugging on his master's arm. “Arthur, please. I need you to get up. We're almost there.”

He tried, he really did, but his arms shook beneath the weight of his own body and his hands and feet felt numb. Merlin knelt down beside him, brushing his hair away from his eyes and searching for coherence.

“Arthur,” he said again, voice wavering. “You must get up. I can't . . . I can't lift you.”

All that Arthur wanted in that moment was to rise up, stand tall, and be the one to carry Merlin out and away from this dark place, but he could not find the strength. Merlin was crying, leaning into him and shaking his head.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered thickly. “Arthur, I'm sorry. I have to.”

Merlin was going to leave him, he thought. At last, he would go and retrieve the knights. They could come back for him and he would sleep and try to keep warm until they returned. But Merlin didn't move. He just sat back away from him, sobbing, trying and failing to compose himself.

He eventually nodded, taking a deep, wet breath and held his hands out in front of him, over Arthur's prone form. He swallowed hard, looking down at his king with fear in his eyes. Then he opened his mouth to speak.

Only a gasp escaped him as he suddenly careened through the air, crashing against the opposite wall and crumpling to the ground.

 _That's what must have happened to me before I woke,_ Arthur thought, sobering from the shock of what had happened. He looked up, bracing his arm beneath him the best he could, and saw Morgana standing before him, her palm splayed out in front of her.

All hope was suddenly sapped from Arthur's soul as he looked upon his sister, and his heart sunk further into despair when he saw that she was flanked by his uncle, no sign of any beastly creature.

“If only Uther could see you now,” Morgana sneered, standing over him. “His mighty heir reduced to a fragile heap.”

Arthur looked past her, to Agravaine, studying his smile and searching for some hint of a guise or a trick. But no, this seemed to be his truth. “Uncle?”

His grin widened and his eyes had a frightening glint in them. “You may be my blood, Arthur, but you let your people rule you like a puppet. A rumor of scared children has you running into battle to slay monsters made of shadows.”

He looked to Morgana for approval, but the witch did not spare him a glance. She did, however, bare her teeth in a cruel smile. “You'll get your glory, brother, don't you worry. Your knights are awaiting your return and they will receive a martyr's head to praise whilst I take my place on the throne.” She laughed, low and devilish, stepping ever closer.

Arthur was reminded suddenly of how they sparred as children. He was sprawled beneath Morgana in the garden, a wooden sword at his throat, Morgana gloating above him as she was now. He could almost feel the summer sun beating down on him in that cold, dark cave. He wondered if he was already dead, Morgana having missed her chance as he bled out on the ground at her feet.

But the world shifted; the grass turned back into stone, the flowers into mold, and a pale hand drew the sword from his own scabbard. _Excalibur,_ Merlin had called it. What sort of fool's name was that?

Morgana's hand wielded Arthur's blade, hoisting it high into the air. “Not even Emrys could survive the touch of this blade,” she murmured, bringing her arm down in one fell swoop.

But Arthur never felt the sting of the blade. For a moment, he thought it was for how numb he was. Instead, there was a pair of thuds in the distance and Morgana let out a monstrous scream.

Perhaps there was a beast to be slain yet.

Arthur looked up to find Merlin crouched over him, eyes brazen gold and fire held in his hand whilst their adversaries sat singed and weakened on the floor.

Agravaine was slow and groaned as he struggled to regain his footing, but Morgana leapt to her feet, screeching like a hawk.

“You won't touch him,” Merlin spat, hand at the ready.

Eyes wide and crazed, Morgana stared him down. “Emrys,” she uttered, swaying on her feet for a moment. Her face contorted in anger and she yelled with the rage of an army, a bright vein of lightning shooting out of her hand.

Merlin shouted in a tongue that sent shivers down Arthur's spine and slammed his fist into the ground. The earth caved beneath his wrath, and the blast of it was so potent that it sent the witch and her hound hurtling through the air and into jagged rocks. The ceiling collapsed upon them in hefty, ragged chunks, the lord surely dead and the priestess seemingly so.

Oh, but the ground did not cease its rumbling at the stop of their hearts. Thunder continued to boom beneath their feet, and Merlin turned to Arthur, trembling all the more for it.

“I'm sorry,” he choked, eyes burning something brilliant. He bent down and hoisted Arthur up and into his arms with the strength of ten men. He screamed as his weary, lithe body staggered under weight of his king, but he swallowed the strain with a grunt and began striding towards the exit.

Not a single pebble seemed to graze Arthur's skin as Merlin charged through the tunnels and was absorbed by the light. Blinding and brilliant and relentless, the white, winter sun pulled them out from the rubble and into a clearing of brown grass.

Merlin kept walking, face wet with tears and golden eyes trained on the path ahead. All the while, Arthur stared at him in awe, frozen in his embrace.

When he met the tree line, Merlin's eyes turned blue again, and he fell to his knees with a whimper and a mewl. Arthur rolled out of his arms and slunk down onto the dirt with him.

He settled on his side, Merlin somewhere at his back. So, he flexed his shoulders forward, letting himself roll to face the sky. Lungs aching and vision spotting dark, Arthur desperately looked to Merlin, but his face was pale and his eyes closed. He wanted them to open, _willed_ them to open, but they stayed shut and Merlin stayed still.

“Meuh,” Arthur huffed, breath tickling the grass. The sky was red, casting Merlin into a painting; the velvet figure of a felled man. But Arthur did not want to see the red of his blood nor the blush of his bruises. He wanted to see gold. He wanted to see it again, to see the sun burn from within Merlin, because he didn't know what it meant. He didn't know what it did to him, how he felt.

So he laid there, breaths becoming shorter and more difficult as the relieving, warm air slowly turned as cold as it had been in the cave. He kept his eyes on Merlin's, wondering where the knights had gone and if Merlin's lungs breathed, his heart beat.


	2. Chapter 2

Birds were chirping. Fire was crackling. The sound of chainmail clinking lingered nearby. Arthur didn't remember falling asleep. He didn't remember getting rescued or being captured. But his armor had been removed, he could feel his fingers and toes again, and he was most certainly lying on a blanket instead of the ground.

He opened his eyes only slightly, the sliver of light burning in the back of his mind. He raised his hand to find a bandage wrapped tightly around his skull and stuck two fingers under it to try and loosen its grip.

“Sire.”

Arthur opened his eyes fully, blinking up at Elyan owlishly. He sighed, feeling the ache and the pain, but also the warmth and the ease. Voice cracking, he opted to grunt instead of speak, holding out his hand as a silent request.

“Hold on.” Elyan turned away and swiftly retrieved a waterskin for his king.

Arthur drank from it greedily, the cool liquid slinking down into his stomach and appeasing whatever war was being fraught by his insides. “Thank you, Elyan,” he said raggedly, wiping the water from his chin.

“It's about time you woke,” Elyan said. “You had us worried with a head wound like that.”

Arthur's fingers grazed the bandage again and he winced. He could feel a large, hot lump under the bandage and the area was throbbing. He almost preferred the numbness to the pounding pain he could feel now.

“Best not to do that,” Elyan chided, gesturing to Arthur's hand. “We cleaned it up the best we could, but without Gaius or Merlin, it's best to leave it be.”

“Merlin's gone?” Arthur's heart produced a pain to rival the one in his head at that. Eyes boring into Elyan's, he dreaded the answer.

The knight’s face fell and he blew out a sigh through his nose. He shook his head slowly. “He's not woken up. We can't tell what's wrong with him.” He looked over, across the fire, to where Merlin was resting. The young man was still as stone and covered head to toe with dirt and filth, but not a single wound could be found on his body, save a few minor scrapes and bruises.

An odd concoction of fear and relief flooded Arthur at the sight. Did he really want Merlin to be here, or would everything have been better off if he'd disappeared without a trace? Arthur was used to never getting closure. So many things in his life simply fell apart before they got resolved. Why should Merlin be any different?

He still wasn't sure what he thought of all this. In fact, Arthur was pretty sure his mind had simply stopped thinking altogether the moment his servant's eyes glowed. He was stunned, trapped in Merlin's arms—and wasn't that a funny thing? Merlin had plucked him up off the ground as though he were a damsel in distress. The knights would have laughed if he told them who carried who out of the cave. He wondered then if the laughter would cease if they found out how the gangly young man had managed it.

“Where were you all?” Arthur asked suddenly, looking back up. “I thought you were meant to be waiting for us outside the cavern.”

Elyan furrowed his brow. “We were unconscious. Most of us were injured in the ambush. Merlin helped a good deal of us to safety, but he went back in after you.”

“Ambush?”

“Do you not remember?”

Arthur shook his head.

“We followed the tracks of the beast to a dead end. Morgana and her men had lured us there. The beast was all a lie.”

“And Agravaine,” Arthur added, “he aided Morgana. He's the one who . . .” He drifted off and looked at Merlin again. That idiot had known it was a lie from the start. Arthur was just too stubborn and blind to realize.

“What happened, Arthur?”

“He's dead,” he replied, eyes not leaving Merlin's face. “Likely Morgana as well.”

“What about Merlin? Did you see what caused this?”

Arthur looked up at his knight, trying to think of the answer to his question. He had seen Merlin fall, had witnessed him crumple to the ground in a heap, but he wasn't sure why. Had he hit his head when Morgana tossed him against the wall? Was there some hidden wound beneath his skin? “I don't know.”

“It could be exhaustion,” Elyan mused. “I'd wager he was up all night looking for you.”

Arthur hummed. “How long has it been?”

“We arrived at the caves two days ago, Arthur. He hadn't slept since we camped here that night.”

“And you know Merlin,” Gwaine said, striding over with some berries in his palm. “He wouldn't have given himself a rest if he hadn't found you yet. He's relentless.”

“I wonder why that is.”

Elyan and Gwaine looked at Arthur strangely. He hadn't meant to say that aloud, but one couldn't blame him for being a bit discombobulated.

A few moments and a bit of arguing later, the king convinced his men to help him stand. And stand he did. He still wobbled on his feet, but with a shoulder or a tree trunk to steady him, he got by. After a small meal, he sat beside Merlin near the fire. He spent a few moments watching his knights mill about; serving themselves seconds of stew and stocking the pit full of firewood.

His heartbeat was racing all the while, being so close to Merlin again making him feel a bit ill. He should be running for the hills or drawing his sword, but instead he was a hair's breadth away from him, sitting comfortably with a blanket about his shoulders.

He tried to pinpoint when exactly this had all started, when Merlin could have possibly become such a drastically different person than the young boy Arthur had first met. It seemed impossible. He had always just been so _odd._ Whenever Arthur learned something new about his servant, instead of surprise, he found himself thinking _well of course._ No one ever presumed to know all there was to know about Merlin. And yet, at the same time, no one ever thought him a liar, a keeper of secrets.

He looked down at him again. Merlin almost looked like a child, sleeping, tired, and small. All at once, Arthur realized that Merlin never lied — not well, in any case. Whenever Merlin's mouth didn't speak the truth, his eyes would shift away and his voice would waver, searching for words he didn't have the conscience to utter.

Keeping secrets wasn't the same as lying. Arthur kept secrets: battle strategies, hidden passages, escape routes. They were necessary. They kept his people safe.

Who was Merlin keeping safe?

It sure wasn't himself. Arthur knew Merlin well enough to know that he cared very little for his own wellbeing in comparison to others’. Naturally _,_ there would be people in Merlin's life that Arthur didn't know about. His tavern friends, the other servants, perhaps an aspiring physician. He scanned the clearing before him, looking at each of his knights. Was it one of them? Did he care so deeply for Elyan or Percival or _Gwaine_ that he'd risk his life time and time again— _oh._

Arthur looked back to Merlin’s sleeping face.

Oh.

Oh, of course it was him. He supposed he knew that from the start, but admitting it to himself somehow made this whole situation even worse. If Merlin was just some nameless servant that got caught red handed, he would be killed or banished and Arthur would be done with him. All would be well and he could move on with his life and marry Guinevere. What a sweet, happy ending. It reflected the childish wishes he'd had when playing knights with Morgana.

But that wasn't right, and it wasn't the situation he had landed himself in. He should have felt shocked to the bone. He should be screaming and yelling and throttling the limp Merlin for betraying the crown. Instead, all he could think was _of course the idiot has magic._

And that was a very odd thought to confess. It made his stomach churn. He was never meant to think so casually of _magic,_ of the thing that killed his parents, the thing that stole Morgana from her home, the thing that nearly took his life and soon after also saved it.

 _Of course._ Merlin always had another surprise waiting around the bend; it was only a matter of time until one them drove the king insane.

He could remember the first time he had realized that Merlin knew how to read. He'd come to collect him for duties and found him hunched over a tome in the physician's chambers, reading up on the latest obscurity that threatened the kingdom.

Arthur had been puzzled, but brushed it off and instead used the knowledge of his servant's talent to rope him into writing him speeches and reviewing his reports. And he was _good_ at it. How had a peasant such as Merlin become so well read, so adept with a quill and ink?

His headache was slowly being replaced with lightheadedness as Arthur thought this through. Merlin was so peculiar; it was driving him mad. He had always sworn that the man's antics would be the death of him. It figured the fool would turn around and prove him right.

Just as Arthur decided that his mind had had enough and that he ought to sleep, he saw something move in his peripheral vision.

Merlin's eyes were open. They were half lidded and dazed, his lashes fluttering against the light of the fire. His mind seemed to catch up with his body, and his eyes became more animated, looking at instead of through things. They flickered about, landing on Arthur's boot and widening in shock.

He was frozen there, staring at Arthur's boot, afraid to look up at his king because he'd saved him. He'd saved him and he'd doomed them all, he really had, because the turmoil going on in Arthur's head felt like it would never end. This would drive him mad. Merlin was a deer, stock stiff, looking into the eyes of a hunter. But Arthur was just a boy, a stranger to death, holding a crossbow he didn't know how to use just yet. Perhaps he was like Merlin in this scenario. Maybe Arthur did not want to learn to hunt this time.

He began to reconsider his metaphor. Merlin was not so much a deer, but rather a small bunny, his heart rabbiting in his chest so fast he feared it may burst.

Whatever creature Merlin was, Arthur needed to say something. If the silence dragged on any longer, they both may perish from the strain of it all. However, Arthur did not know what he wished to ask, to demand. So many questions were dancing around in his head and he felt pressured to think no more, so he spoke what first came to his mind.

“Where did you learn to read?”

_Maybe Merlin's not the idiot in this pair after all._

Merlin's head snapped up, and he looked at Arthur with such painful puzzlement that it felt like a slap to the face. “What?”

Arthur cleared his throat, all matter of experience with public speaking and diplomacy escaping him under Merlin's gaze. “I just . . . I was wondering how you . . . Where did you get the books from?”

Merlin's expression didn't change. His eyes just flitted back and forth, searching for something within his king. “That's what you want to ask me right now?”

“No,” Arthur said, feeling dumb. “But I do . . . I did wonder.”

“I . . .” Merlin's voice wavered so terribly that he stopped, swallowed, and took a few deep breaths. “My mother had a few. She let me read them when . . .” He faltered again and just stared at Arthur, a tremor running through him.

“Where did they come from? The books, I mean.”

Merlin's eyes glistened and Arthur knew that he did not know the answer. He thought long and hard about it himself. Perhaps his father had left them behind. Maybe Hunith had lived nearer to the city in her past and splurged on a book or two. How had Hunith learned to read? Who taught her? Why?

A shaky breath distracted Arthur from his thoughts and he focused on Merlin again, finding that a tear had settled on the curve of his cheek. He took another breath that was nearly a sob and asked, “Why are you doing this?”

“I wanted to know,” Arthur said truthfully. He frowned at himself. Was he in such a state of shock that he could not control his own tongue? “I wanted to know more about you.”

“But why . . .” Merlin choked, and swallowed hard again as a few more droplets rolled down his face. “Why the books? Why not . . . I don't understand.”

“Neither do I,” Arthur whispered, leaning in closer to look deep into Merlin's eyes. “I don't know what I'm doing, Merlin.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I think I'm scared,” Arthur said. It was almost a question.

But Merlin's face crumpled at that and Arthur felt the urge to rip out his own tongue.

“I'm sorry,” he cried, struggling to keep his voice low.

“Stop.” Arthur grabbed Merlin's wrist. He flinched but did not move to tear it away. “You saved me.”

“Again,” Merlin muttered, mouth hardly moving, but body shaking enough to make up for it.

“Again,” Arthur affirmed, nodding eagerly. “Of course you did.”

“What?”

“Merlin, who is Emrys?”

“ _What_?”

“Morgana.”

Merlin cringed at her name like it was a curse.

“She called you that.”

“I don't . . .”

“Look at me.”

“I . . .”

“Look at me. Do not lie. Just look at me.”

Merlin's eyes, that had been flitting away, rolled back towards the king. He stared back at him, breathing heavily and ragged through his nostrils.

“Who are you, Merlin?”

That question seemed to spark something within the boy, and he let his mouth hang open for a moment before he spoke. “I'm Merlin,” he said, nodding to himself. “I'm Emrys, but I am Merlin. I have . . . I am a warlock. I am the prophesied man. I am a son. I am a servant. I am . . . your friend. And I am Emrys. Again, I am Emrys. But at the end of the day, _Arthur,_ I will always be _Merlin.”_

“Of course you are.”

“Why . . .”

“Merlin.”

“Arthur.”

“Merlin.”

“I have magic.”

“Merlin.”

“I was born with it.”

“Merlin.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Merlin.”

“I didn't want to hurt you.”

_“Merlin.”_

A sob finally escaped him and he clamped a hand over his mouth, moaning into it and letting his tears roll over his knuckles. He doubled over, cradling himself and trying not to wake the knights, trying not to scare Arthur, trying not to let the woe shred through him until he was reduced to nothing.

The shock was gone in that moment and the anger that had been festering in the back of Arthur's mind surfaced for only a moment before being extinguished entirely by the overwhelming _need_ to touch Merlin. He wrapped his arms around his back and pulled him close, pressing Merlin's head into his chest and just taking him in.

“It's alright,” Arthur whispered. “Merlin.” He said his name like it was honey on his lips. “Merlin.” He said it again, reminding himself who was sat before him, trembling and afraid. Merlin was his servant, his friend. Merlin had magic. Merlin cried when they had to put down a rabid hunting dog. Merlin slayed Morgana. Merlin's hands got cold in the winter. Merlin had secrets. Merlin dressed him every morning. Merlin razed the cave to the ground. Merlin put him to bed every night. Merlin could kill him with a thought. Merlin protected Arthur from the very start. Merlin. Merlin. Merlin.

“I'm sorry,” Merlin said, low and wet. “I wanted to tell you.”

“I know,” Arthur said, because he did. “I'm scared too.” He held onto him tighter, willing the treacherous thoughts out of his head. He knew there was something there, something dark and prejudiced, but he didn't want to feel it. He just wanted to see Merlin as he was. He wanted to see him trip over his own feet and then smile like everything was okay. “Merlin.”

“What?” He looked up at him the best that he could, face still pressed against Arthur's shirt.

Arthur took a few voluminous breaths and Merlin leaned into them, hearing his lungs groan as they expanded. He closed his eyes and listened to the king's heart beat as if the answer would come from there.

“Percival is staring at us,” Arthur said quietly.

Merlin smiled and sat up, wiping the tears from his eyes. His vision was still blurry but he could see the watercolor form of Sir Percival hastily turning away from them. He laughed lightly, even as the tears kept coming.

“What was it that you said to me before we left to hunt the beast?” Arthur asked in a whisper.

“I don't know.”

“Yes you do.”

“I said . . . I said what I always say.” Merlin gave him a look, as though the answer was obvious. “That you're the greatest king this land will ever know. That I knew . . . I know you'll do what you believe is right.”

Arthur sat there a moment, acknowledging the dark thoughts in his head, the subliminal urge to protect himself from the man before him. “Why do you have such faith in me?” he asked.

“Because . . .” He swallowed, attempting to clear the phlegm from his throat. “Because I know you.” A sound similar to a laugh forced itself out of Merlin, but it brought tears and troublesome breathing with it. He sucked in a large, wet breath, gasping for composure that refused to take hold.

“Why are you crying?” Arthur asked.

Merlin snorted. “I can't decide. Why aren't you crying?”

“Neither can I.”

Hesitantly, Merlin chuckled and held his hands under his eyes, rubbing lightly on his cheek. “Here.” He brought his fingers forward, placing them gingerly under Arthur's eyes and trailing them down his face, leaving shining wet streaks of borrowed tears down his face. “Better?”

Arthur could tell that Merlin was still petrified, and if he were honest, so was he. So he took the end of his tunic in his fist and answered, “almost.” He brought it up to Merlin's face and dabbed it dry, leaving him red faced and tired looking.

“What's . . . What are we doing?” Merlin asked, rubbing at his nose. “We need to talk about . . . I have so much to tell you.”

“You need to rest,” Arthur countered, pulling Merlin's arm away from his face. “You look as though you may keel over any second.”

“Don't tempt me.”

They ran out of things to say then, and the woods fell eerily silent. The birds and the trees and the fire all held their breath. Then, maybe because he was scared, or maybe because he was sad, Arthur leaned forward and kissed Merlin on the forehead. He held him there for a moment, hand loosely cupping his cheek, before leaning back.

Before he could even open his eyes, Merlin had his lips on his nose, clumsily bumping into it before finding his way to his cupid's bow. It was short, but it was _hard,_ a ripple of _something_ speeding through them at the touch.

When he opened his eyes, Merlin's face was somehow redder, but his eyes were drooping closed and his shoulders were beginning to slacken.

“Thank you, Merlin.”

“Arthur.”

“Let us sleep.”

“I love you,” Merlin uttered, voice thick like he may cry again.

Arthur lowered them both down to the ground. “ _Of course_ you do.”

He watched as Merlin's eyes finally closed and his breathing began to even out. Then, he shifted closer, taking in his visage as he waited for sleep to claim him as well.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DollopheadedMerlin: This was my first time working with a Beta AND my first time participating in a fest! It was so much fun to create this fic based off of Eisbaerfussel's wondrous artwork! My lovely Beta was amazing to work with and she felt more like a co-writer, what with how she helped me fix up and perfect this story as much as possible. Collaborating was a first for me too, but Eisbaerfussel and I had an absolutely lovely time working things out and making sure that everything came together nicely! I had SO much fun working with both of you and look forward to participating in more fests in the future! 
> 
> Eisbaerfussel: This was my first reverse, but I was taken such good care of with dollopheadedmerlin! Their fic was so touching and perfectly fitting my artwork, I was instantly inspired to sketch the second artwork as soon as I finished reading this marvellous fic! *-* Thank you so much for all the effort in writing and also organizing everything for posting this thing, my dear, I'm really glad I was able to work with you <3


End file.
